“Jennifer, did you have Fexler paged?” I ask feeling the veins in my head begin to throb.
“Yes, but…”
“But what?” My patience is becoming thinner and thinner, and the line goes dead. I pick up the phone to call back but get a busy signal. I stand up and head to the door and Dexter Crestfield Sr. walks through.
“Collin…” He’s wearing a menacing smile. “My son,” he adds with condescension.
I smile back.
“Your brother revoked your privileges to our chemist and pharmacy staff,” he explains. He looks me up and down and gives me an approving nod.
“Excellent choice for Lauren’s gallery opening.” He smiles like a game show host. He walks past me and sits behind my desk. “I’m a little concerned, Collin.” He leans back in my chair.
“Concerned about what?”
“That you don’t have things under control.”
“I have everything under control. Granted, there have been some small mishaps,” I admit.
“I don’t do mishaps, Collin. I’m too old for them now. I like results, and I do not like mistakes or miscalculations. They bore me, irritate me, and I’m not someone you want to do either of those things to.” His hard face cracks into a smile.
“There hasn’t been a miscalculation or mistake seeing as I’m the one here. There is a reason for that, and if you help keep me here, you won’t have anything to fear.”
He sits up halfway in my chair.
“You remind me so much of your mother. Out of all of your comrades, you remind me of her the most,” he says with a sinister smile, and I clench my teeth.
“She was so beautiful. She could have easily gone to Hollywood or New York and made a fortune off her face alone. The second I laid eyes on her I knew she had to be mine and I just hoped that the brain she had matched the body.” He chuckles.
“Are you done,” I ask him pointedly. His smile fades into a flat hard line.
“You’ll sit. Right now.” His tone doesn’t go above a whisper but would make a lesser man flinch. He points to the chair in front of my desk. I press my lips together and adjust my suit before sitting. As long as I get what I want at the end of the conversation, I can appease him. He can pay for this later.
“You know I didn’t realize something was off with her until… well, I won’t get into the vulgar details with you. That would be tasteless.” He snickers and his eyes survey my face waiting for a reaction. “She seemed to be fine with us seeing each other when time allowed, and she understood being arm candy, but then a part of her didn’t, and then you came along.”
“As much as these tales of your youth are probably worthy of a best seller, I have somewhere to be,” I remind him.
“You know I think I have misled you, Collin. I may have given you the distinct impression that I owe you something—that you are in control—when in fact, it is the very opposite.”
I can’t help but laugh at that.
“Having you committed would be too simple,” he says casually.
I let out a disbelieving laugh.
“If I felt that you were any danger to yourself and Helen agreed with me…” he trails off.
“You’re not talking to Christopher, Dexter. You’d have to have more than that.”
“Impatient, just like Isabella.” He shakes his head.
“You have been coercing my staff to give you medication. You threatened one before slamming their head into a metal counter,” he says, and I feel my heartbeat speed up.
“I didn’t do that,” I retort, and he smirks.
“Really… are you sure? Because I don’t think you remember as much as you should…” he trails off and stands from my chair and walks to the window.
“Let’s say you didn’t. You don’t think I could persuade one, two, or three of my employees to agree to state otherwise? That I don’t have judges in my pocket?” He turns toward me, wearing a grin. “You are documented as suffering time loss and blackouts. Which means that you are not aware of all that you do. You don’t think that I couldn’t have Helen agree with how I see your condition?” He laughs.
“Having you committed would be generous, Collin. It would be better than you getting into one of those luxury vehicles you love so much and the brakes giving out. A strange man cornering you in an alley with a gun to swipe that fifteen thousand dollar watch off your wrist and his finger slips and pulls the trigger.”
My throat is tight, and my body feels heavy, my thoughts become hazy.
“You see this game that I play with those who think they’re smarter—a step ahead of me. I let them think that they’re a step away from a checkmate and then… I knock the board over.” He leans down in front of me, so we’re face-to-face.
“You’re lucky that you’re blood. Don’t feel so down on yourself. Better men than you have lost to me, and will continue to. Your own brother has his game that he thinks will put him on top but he will lose as well and the world will continue to spin. You don’t get this far in life with what I have and what I’ve built by not having your finger on the pulse of every area that you need to. I’ve learned to see the big picture. Young men like yourself only see a small cutout.”
He touches my cheek like how a father would a loving son.
“You know I really loved your mother… she just…she didn’t understand her place—couldn’t accept it—even after all of my convincing.” He lets out a short sigh. “Oh well. That’s all in the past right, my boy?” He pats me on the back before making his way to the door.
“Oh, I almost forgot. I have a present for you.” I turn toward him and he tosses me a pill vial. I fumble before catching it, and he leaves out of my office . It looks like he was never here, but his presence is everywhere, infecting the air, infecting me. I quickly close the door then I’m frozen. Stuck in place. I try to think but I can’t because all I hear is sinister laughing. I quickly open the bottle and pop four pills.
He’s not here yet. In the midst of all the exciting chaos my thoughts are on him, and they shouldn’t be. Everything is going to be fine. Tonight is about enjoying this night, my accomplishments—something I’ve worked so hard to bring together. Well, that’s what Raven has told me since the minute I walked in my pale face hidden beneath foundation, concealer and highlighting powder. Hillary did an amazing job. My face looks like those girls on Instagram—flawless. My hair is effortlessly chic after Angie created perfect loose waves. The black dress I’m wearing seems especially made for me—hugging and hiding all of the right places. Tonight the gallery is packed. The music fills the air as people admire each painting. Cameras are flashing as a few newspaper reporters are here. The crowd is a mix of the young, vibrant, and the sophisticated, which I attribute to my artist’s social media followers and the strings that Dexter pulled for more traditional press. I’m dreaming, and it’s perfect except my leading man is missing.
“Smile honey, you look like you just swallowed a condom,” Hillary whispers in my ear. “There are so many people dying to meet you—make your rounds and thank everyone for coming and upsell your artists work. I’ve sold five and I’m killing you,” she says tightly into my ear. She takes my arm and we make our way around the room. I’m surprised at how good Hillary is at this. She’s charismatic—reserved with the women and the right hint of flirtatious with the men. She’s knowledgeable of each piece and who the artist is. She’s done her homework and stepped up in ways I didn’t imagine she would when I hired her because she was in between jobs. In the moments I was falling apart, she was pulling things together.